On the Path
Chapter 15
Ellander – Late summer 1194
Geralt stood at the front entrance to the grounds of the Temple of Melitele and looked again through the wrought-iron fence. Inside, there was a stone walkway that snaked its way through some gardens and looked as if ended at a large, multi-story building off in the distance. Five minutes earlier, when he'd told the adept at the gate that he was looking for a red-headed healer named Visenna, the young, priestess-in-training had said that she didn't know of anyone by that name. It was the answer that the witcher had expected. However, she'd then told him to stay there while she went to confer with Mother Nenneke, leaving Geralt alone with his thoughts.
As he continued to wait for the adept's return, he stood next to Roach, rubbed her gently along her neck, and let his mind drift back to his activity over the past six months. Since leaving Dothan, he had methodically traveled through many of the kingdoms that were situated between the Pontar and Yaruga Rivers looking for his mother but to no avail. No one had seen her. No one had even heard of her. He had not yet reached the point where he wanted to quit in his search, but he was getting close. He had eventually adopted the motto of, "Hope for the best but expect the worst." For he was tired of having his expectations shattered every time someone answered his query about his mother in the negative. Therefore, he'd learned to simply keep his expectations as low as possible. No one could ever disappoint him that way.
The witcher had found a small Melitele temple in Lyria and then another in Aedirn. After that, he'd headed back down south through Rivia – finding a third sanctuary there - before crossing the Yaruga and searching through Angren. Still having no luck, he'd decided to head west and continue his search through the kingdoms on the opposite side of the Mahakam mountain range. He'd crisscrossed his way northward through Temeria, and that was how he had ended up in Ellander. The current temple – which was much larger than any of the others that he'd visited - must have been the fourth or fifth one that he'd come across in his travels, and while the previous temples had all possessed beautiful gardens, none of them had been the one that Geralt had seen in his vision, and none of the priestesses at any of those temples had had any idea who Visenna was.
But in the last half year, the teenager hadn't just dealt only with priestesses in temples. He'd also interacted with hundreds of farmers, peasants, villagers, city-dwellers, and everyone in between. And the more people that he came across, the more disillusioned and colder he became. He quickly learned that how he'd been treated during that very first leshen contract almost a year ago in Aedirn was the norm, not the exception. Not all, but most people simply shunned him – either out of fear or hatred, he wasn't exactly sure. Well, they shunned him unless they needed him – needed his swords and skills - but when they found out he wasn't interested in taking on their contract, they cursed him and told him to leave their town. He couldn't remember the last time that he'd actually spoken with a friendly face. And every day – with every mile that he traveled - the anger that he'd felt when he'd left the Dothan palace seemed to grow deeper and more bitter.
Geralt waited for over a quarter of an hour at the gate and was just about to turn back toward Roach to leave, when he suddenly saw a woman walking his way on the stone path. She was very short, and the loose robe that was lightly cinched with a sash around her waist only partially hid her full figure. The witcher wasn't sure what it was called, but she wore some kind of religious veil that covered most of head and flowed down to her shoulders but left her face and her dark bangs visible. Her face was stern, but at the same time, not unpleasant to look at. He didn't know who she was, but he didn't figure her to be Mother Nenneke. He assumed the chief priestess would be gray-haired and covered with wrinkles, and this woman was neither.
"I was told that you're looking for Visenna," the woman said, after stopping in front of him and looking up into his face.
Up close, he could see that she had a smooth, round face framed by brown hair. But it was her piercing green eyes that he noticed most. He felt a small pang in his chest because they reminded him of his mother's.
He nodded his head to her question.
"And you are?" she asked.
He paused before answering.
"Geralt…her son," he finally replied.
Normally, he never offered that he was Visenna's son to the strangers with whom he spoke. And he wasn't entirely sure why he'd shared that information with this woman, but there was just something about her – maybe the aura she emitted – that made him want to open up to her. Or, maybe it was her eyes.
Upon hearing his answer, a smile creased her stern face, and she said, "She knew that you'd come…eventually."
Suddenly, the witcher's heart began to beat a little bit faster. He couldn't believe it.
"She's here?"
The smile left her face.
"No…but she was," she said. "Let's talk in my office, shall we?"
Then, without waiting for a response, she unlocked the gate, turned and began walking back toward the temple building at the other end of the path.
Geralt was feeling a flood of emotions inside of him. Finally, after all of this time, he'd met someone who knew his mother, which meant that she had to be alive. But, at the same time, the priestess had said that Visenna was no longer there, and he felt the anger and frustration that always seemed to be right below the surface start to boil just a bit.
The teenager quickly caught up to the priestess, and as they walked through the gardens, he looked down at her profile. He saw nary a wrinkle on her face.
"You're Mother Nenneke?"
"Please don't call me that. Just Nenneke will do," she replied. "But, yes, I'm the chief priestess here."
Geralt squinted at the woman.
"You look…pretty young to be a chief priestess."
The chief priestesses at the other temples had all been much older.
"Why, thank you, Geralt," she said with a smile. "A woman always likes to hear she looks youthful, and I'm certainly not above such flattery. But you shouldn't let appearances fool you."
Immediately, a vision of Delyla flashed through his mind.
"Yeah. I'll never confuse beauty with purity ever again."
He then furrowed his brows – confused as to why he had shared that information with this stranger, as well.
She peered up at Geralt for a moment and then nodded her head.
"That would be wise," she said. "Just as I've learned to never mistake youthfulness with innocence. Only the gods and their angels are holy and pure."
The witcher slowly looked down at the priestess as they continued to walk along.
"The gods?" he said with a trace of contempt, "Holy and pure?"
"Yes. Don't you think so?"
"The swords on my back are the only things I worship."
Nenneke suddenly stopped walking, causing the young witcher to stop as well. She looked up at him with a small frown on her face.
"So, then, you don't believe?" she asked.
He stared into her eyes.
"Oh, I believe. I definitely believe…that gods…humans…young or old. They all betray," he said slowly. "So, trust no one…and keep your sword at the ready. Those are the only two truths in this world worth believing in. That's my religion."
The teen noticed a slightly curious look on the priestess' face.
"I'm fully aware of what man is capable of," she said, "but how have the gods betrayed you? How has Melitele betrayed you?"
"Really?" he asked with a glare. "How have the gods betrayed me? Well, how about this? They tore me from my mother – the only person in this shithole world that actually ever loved me. Then, I was tortured and abused for years. I've tasted more pain than you could imagine in even your worst nightmares. Everyone I've ever remotely cared about has either been killed or ended betraying me. And to top it all off, I got turned into a mutant-freak – hated and cheated by the very people that I'm supposed to help."
The teen didn't understand why he was sharing so much with the woman. The angry words just seemed to be flowing out all on their own. As he paused, he realized that his heart was beating a little faster than normal so he took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly.
"I didn't deserve any of that," he continued in a low voice. "So, if gods do exist…they can go bugger themselves for all I care."
The witcher and priestess stood in front of the door to the temple, just staring at one another for several moments. Finally, Nenneke spoke.
"You're right, Geralt. You didn't deserve any of that. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to go through it."
"Oh, you're sorry?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow up. "Well, why didn't you say so? That makes it all better then."
A small grimace came to her face.
"I've obviously touched on a raw nerve," she said calmly. "I apologize. How about we drop the subject?"
He looked at her and then slowly nodded his head so she gave him a small, sad smile.
"My office is just ahead," she said before opening the door and heading down a wide hallway.
Less than a minute later, they reached her office door, which she quickly opened. After they entered, she sat behind her desk while she directed Geralt to sit opposite her.
"Just so you know, I may not look it, but I'm probably twice your age," she said, restarting the conversation. "Though, I wasn't much older than you must be now when your mother first showed up at our temple all those years ago."
The witcher leaned forward slightly in his chair upon the mention of his mother.
"So, you knew her?"
Nenneke nodded.
"As chance would have it, I was the one who greeted Visenna at the gates and escorted her to Mother Jurica. She was near death – bloody and injured. But mostly heart-broken."
Geralt was now leaning forward completely, his hands on his knees.
"What…what happened?" he asked, but he was almost positive that he already knew the answer.
It was the nightmare that had haunted his childhood. Even now, he could still close his eyes and picture his mother just as he'd last seen her – on her back, with a torn and bloody dress, and tears running down her face. And him struggling against the foul-smelling witcher and crying out for his "Mama."
"She was on her way to bring you here when you two were attacked by some monsters" said the priestess, interrupting the vision playing in his mind. "She said that she did her best to protect you, but in her weakened state, she stood little chance. However, a witcher arrived just in time to kill the beasts."
Geralt slowly nodded his head at the memory of that night.
"Afterward, he demanded payment for his services," Nenneke continued.
The witcher clenched his jaws and exhaled slowly.
"And she gave him me," he whispered before his eyes slid away from hers, staring at nothing.
Suddenly, he furrowed his brow and looked up at the priestess.
"Wait – you said that she was bringing me here. Why?"
A frown crossed Nenneke's face.
"Your mother was very sick, Geralt," she said. "In fact, she was dying. She was bringing you here…to leave you with us."
Instantly, all the air rushed out of his lungs at once, and his eyes fell away from Nenneke's. They drifted down to the desk in front of him, but he was no longer seeing anything. He was lost in the whirl of thoughts and emotions inside of him. He lowered his head and closed his eyes as a deep emptiness filled his chest. He suddenly found it difficult to even take in a normal-sized breath. It felt like his heart and lungs were in a vice-grip.
"She's dead. Your mother's dead…and you're all alone," he thought to himself. "You are all alone."
Geralt had felt alone for almost as long as he could remember, and the rational part of him had always recognized the likelihood that he would always be alone. However, despite that acceptance, he'd kept a spark of hope inside of him – the hope that his mother was still alive; the hope that one day he would find her; that he would one day feel her warm embrace again. But now…
Eventually, he looked up and said, "Is she buried here? Can I see her gravesite?"
His voice was barely above a whisper.
Nenneke didn't say anything for a moment. She looked deeply into his eyes, and then her stern face softened.
"Geralt, I…" she said before pausing and sighing deeply. "For years, I've debated on what I'd tell you if you ever showed up."
Geralt raised up a little straighter in his chair. He saw that she now wore a small frown.
"But I think you deserve the truth," she continued with a nod of her head. "No matter how much it might hurt."
The witcher squinted his eyes at the woman across from him.
"Geralt, your mother's not dead, but…you two can't be together."
"What? What are you talking about?"
The priestess sighed deeply.
"Your mother was an incredibly skilled alchemist and healer. She also possessed some innate magical powers. It was only because of those powers and her knowledge that she was able to conceive you."
He furrowed his brows.
"I don't understand."
"Visenna was infertile – like virtually all sorceresses. She told us that she'd experimented with her alchemy and magical spells for years and years until she had finally found a cure."
"Okay…but what's that got to do with why she and I can't be together?"
"I'm not a sorceress so I don't comprehend it fully, but she said that magic is very unpredictable. She said that it's a chaotic, living energy and that it doesn't like to be controlled. And because of that, harnessing it - using it – always exacts a cost. So, somehow, in a way she never could explain, she was having a negative, magical reaction to…" the priestess paused and took a breath, "…to you."
The teenager didn't say anything. He just shook his head, a confused look on his face.
"She told us that at first she wasn't even aware of it. That the illness…or reaction started out mild. But as you got older, she realized that the more she was around you, the sicker she was getting. She did some experiments where she'd leave you with a neighbor friend for a day and her health immediately started to improve. But when she brought you back, well…"
For several moments, neither spoke. They just looked into each other's eyes. Finally, the witcher swallowed.
"So, what you're saying is…that I was killing my mother."
"No. That's not what I'm saying at all. I would never phrase it like that," she said with a frown. "And neither did she. It was magic that was keeping you a part."
"Doesn't matter how you phrase it," he growled, with a shake of his head. "Bottom line is - if she stayed in my presence, she was going to die, right?"
After a moment, Nenneke simply nodded in response.
"But, Geralt, you should know that she did everything she could to find a cure for it. She just…she just never was successful. So, her plan was to bring you here and let us care for you and raise you while she continued to work on finding a cure, but…"
"But then the gods stepped in," interrupted Geralt, a small sneer on his face.
The priestess didn't say anything.
"So, she's alive?"
"As far as I know," Nenneke answered. "We were able to nurse her back to health from the monster attacks, and she stayed here with us a while, but she eventually left us. She never said where she was going."
Geralt looked up at the ceiling and breathed in deeply before eventually looking back at the priestess.
"I guess it doesn't matter now anyway," he replied with a small shake of his head.
He then looked away from her. He nodded a few times before returning his eyes to hers.
"Well…I guess that's it then. My search is over – unless I want to kill her," he said, and then he slowly stood up. "Thank you for your time."
But before he could turn to the door, she stopped him.
"Wait, Geralt. Before you go…"
She then reached into her desk drawer, pulled out two objects and placed them on the middle of the desk.
"You had a bit of a wait at the front gate because I was looking for these," she said.
One was a parchment that was folded and sealed with a small blob of wax. The other was a silver brooch. Geralt's eyes shifted quickly between the two objects, and then he looked at Nenneke.
"She left these for you," she said.
When Geralt didn't immediately move to reach for them, she added, "Go on. They're yours."
As the teenager stared at the two objects, he suddenly realized that he was breathing fast and shallow. He glanced at the priestess one more time before leaning forward and grasping an object in each hand – the brooch in his left and the letter in his right. He slowly sat back down in the chair and then brought the two mementos onto his lap. The first thing he noticed was his name written on the outside of the parchment. The ink was faded but still legible.
"My mother wrote that," he thought to himself. "My mother."
His eyes then moved to the brooch in his other hand, and, suddenly, a memory rushed into his mind.
"Mama," said Geralt as he and Visenna sat at their table eating lunch, "why do you always wear that butterfly?"
She glanced down at the brooch, smiled warmly at her son, and then placed her spoon in her bowl. She then slowly reached up and removed the brooch from her thread-bare dress.
She leaned over and held the piece of jewelry closer to Geralt so that he could see it better.
"I wear it because it reminds me of you."
"But, why? I'm not a butterfly," said the five-year old.
"No, you're not," she agreed with a smile. "But you are my miracle."
The little boy furrowed his brow and slightly shook his head.
"Here, let me explain," she said.
And then she moved her chair next to his so that they were sitting side-by-side.
"Well, you may already know this, but butterflies don't start out as butterflies. They begin their lives as something called a caterpillar. And caterpillars look nothing like this," she said as she pointed at her brooch. "You've seen caterpillars before, right?"
"Uh huh," he replied, nodding his head. "They look kind of like a worm."
"That's right. They're drab colored – either gray or green – and they have no wings or even real legs so they just crawl around like worms do. But at some point, they go through an incredible, miraculous transformation. They hide themselves inside of a cocoon, and when they come out, they're completely changed. They have beautiful wings – so full of vibrant colors. Wings that allow them to fly on the wind. Wings that give them freedom."
Geralt was taking it all in.
"Okay," he said, "but I'm not a butterfly. I don't have wings."
"No, you don't, but it reminds me of you because before you came along, my life was like a caterpillar. It was dull and drab, moving along inch by inch. But when I had you, my life completely changed. Being your mother gives me so much joy and excitement. It's like my heart is just exploding with all kinds of colors – just like the colors of a butterfly's wings. Having you as my son is like flying on the wind."
She then reached up one hand and tenderly ran her fingers through his hair.
"I actually bought this brooch a few years before you were born. I bought it when I knew that I wanted to have you. For a long time, it just represented hope. The hope of one day having you. But, now, it just represents you. Do you understand?"
Geralt wore a confused expression and just shrugged his shoulders, which made Visenna laugh.
"Well, hopefully, one day you will understand. But, until then, just know that I love wearing it because it makes me think of you. And I love you…so very, very much."
She then bent down and hugged her son and kissed the top of his head.
The witcher cleared his throat and swallowed hard as the memory ended. He continued to stare at the brooch for several long moments before, eventually, turning his attention to the letter in his other hand. He carefully broke the wax seal, and as he opened the parchment, he noticed that his hands were slightly trembling. He swallowed hard again and then looked down at the words on the page.
My dearest Geralt,
If you're reading this, then I was right. I know that you'll one day come to the temple in Ellander. Fate brought you into my life. Unfortunately, it also took you away from me. And I know it will eventually bring you here.
Please know that you are my miracle and my greatest blessing. Having to give you up was the cruelest day of my life, but I am so grateful for the five years that I had with you. And know that, no matter where I am, no matter where you are, I will always, always love you.
It's been months since I saw you last, and I miss you more today than the day we said goodbye. I will always miss you and wonder how you are doing. I will always worry if you're safe. But I'll never have to wonder what kind of man you'll grow to be. I know that you'll be a man of courage and honor and kindness – because those qualities have always been inside of you. You will always be my little knight.
And I will always be your proud and loving Mama.
After reading the letter, the teenager just sat in the chair for the longest time, breathing heavily and staring at the parchment on his lap. Nenneke didn't say a word. In fact, she was being so quiet that he forgot she was even there. Eventually, he slowly folded the parchment closed and carefully placed it and the brooch back on the table. He then brought his eyes up to meet those of the priestess. He clearly saw pity in them, which made him clench his jaws. He put his hands on the arms of the chair and slowly stood.
"Thank you for your time," he said and then turned toward the door.
He'd only taken a step when Nenneke called out, "Geralt, wait."
When he turned back to look at her, he noticed her furrowed brows and small frown.
"Are you not going to take these with you? Visenna meant for you to have them."
She was pointing at the letter and the brooch.
Geralt slowly shook his head, his eyes boring into hers.
"I'm a witcher," he said, contempt dripping from his words. "And the Path is no place for silly mementos."
He then looked down to the floor.
"No place for sentimental dreams," he whispered to himself.
Nenneke immediately moved from behind her desk and approached the monster-slayer. She came up close to him, slightly invading his space – so close that she had to crane her neck to look him in the eyes.
"Then, I'll keep them for you, okay?" she said. "They'll always be here for you. And whenever you need a respite from the Path, please know that my doors will always be open for you."
He furrowed his brows as he looked down into her green eyes – eyes that looked just like his mother's.
"Why? Why do you even care?"
Nenneke gave him a small smile.
"Your mother was a good woman, Geralt. In the year that she was here, she saved many lives with her healing abilities, and she taught me a lot about alchemy and medicine. During that time, we became close friends. So, I'd like to be your friend, too."
Geralt didn't say anything. He just continued to look into the small woman's face.
"Besides, everyone – even a witcher – needs hopes and dreams. Life's not worth living without them. So, when you need a break from the Path, you're always welcome here. This can be a safe haven for you – a place to rest, to remember…and to hope and dream, okay?"
As she said the last, she extended her hand. The two of them stood there for the longest time, just staring into each other's eyes. Finally, the teenager inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. He glanced down at her hand before making eye-contact again.
"Farewell," he said, and then he reached out and quickly shook her hand.
He then immediately turned and walked out of her office. As he passed through the doorway, he heard her say behind him, "Farewell, Geralt. May Mother Melitele watch over you."
The witcher strode purposefully down the hall, out the temple door and along the stone path. He stopped for just a moment and looked at the gardens on either side of the walkway. He recognized them. They were clearly the gardens that had been in the vision of his mother all those years ago. He assumed that, somewhere within, were the white, marble birdbath and matching bench upon which Visenna had sat. He still didn't even know how that vision had happened. It must have been some kind of magic, he figured. But, honestly, at that point, he didn't even care anymore. He quickly shook his head and then continued walking.
He exited the main gate, approached Roach, and put his hands up on the saddle. He was just about to mount his horse, when he stopped and gritted his teeth – watching his hands tremble in rage…in fear…in anguish. He closed his eyes and stood there, silent and still for the longest time, as thoughts ran through his mind. Finally, he opened his eyes and reached into the pocket of his trousers. He slowly pulled out the witcher medallion. He breathed in and out, slow and steady, as he stared at the magical wolf-head. Eventually, he sighed.
"Accept it," he whispered through clenched jaws. "Just…bloody-well accept it."
He breathed deeply a few more times, and, with a small shake of his head, he reached up and placed the silver medallion around his neck, letting it rest against his chest. He then climbed into the saddle and slowly rode away.
oOo
Hengfors - Fall 1194
Geralt sat at a small table in the corner of the tavern with the cowl of his cloak over his head. His back was to the wall so that he could easily see the few patrons at the other tables. The breakfast rush had passed, and it was still several hours before the lunch crowd would come in, so the tavern was mostly empty. But he wasn't there to meet a patron about a witcher contract. He was in the tavern for another reason, and his eyes stayed focused on one person in particular. It had taken him a long time to finally find her.
The waitress looked to be in her mid-twenties and was tall and thick. Not fat, but 'big-boned.' She had a round face with puppy dog eyes, and her brown hair was pulled back in a pony-tail. And she had a perpetual smile on her lips. He'd been in the tavern the night before, as well, and it had been incredibly busy. But no matter how boisterous or demanding the clientele became, she seemed to never get flustered, the smile rarely leaving her face. She had a quick laugh and warm demeanor that could win over even the most belligerent of customers. There was a tranquil peace about her, thought Geralt - a peace that was completely foreign to him. A peace he didn't know and that he feared he'd never know.
Eventually, the waitress came over to his table.
"Did you enjoy your breakfast, sir?" she asked as she picked up his empty plate.
He nodded.
"Well, is there anything else I can get for you?"
The witcher didn't answer. He just shook his head, and then he slowly reached out a closed hand and placed it on top of the table. He then opened his hand and pulled it back towards him. Left behind was a coin for the meal and small necklace – a wooden, fish-shaped pendant on a simple, leather strip.
Geralt looked at the waitress's face and, then, a moment later, he saw her eyes go wide. She reached out a shaking hand out and picked up the necklace. She then quickly looked at the witcher.
"Eugene?" she asked in a fearful voice.
Geralt slowly lowered the cowl, revealing his face. He shook his head.
"No."
She quickly sat down in the chair across from him. He saw her staring into his cat-like eyes.
"If you have this," she said, her eyes dropping to the necklace in her hands, "then…"
"He didn't make it," the witcher said, finishing her thought. "But he would've wanted you to have that. You were just about the only thing he talked about, and he prayed for you every night."
Suddenly, a small gasp escaped from her throat, and tears filled her eyes.
"I knew. When years went by…and he didn't come see me, I knew."
She lowered her head, peering at the pendant in her hand, and Geralt didn't have anything to say in response so he just nodded his head. After a moment, she brought her eyes back up to his.
"You must have known him well…to come all this way…to want to give me this."
The teenager nodded, and he stared at the waitress for several seconds – looking into her face. A face that looked so much like her little brother's.
"He was my best friend. He was tender hearted…and good…and trusting. He would have made a terrible witcher."
Milka nodded her head, and her tears finally broke free and fell down her cheeks.
Geralt sat there for a few more minutes, answering the questions that she had – though he didn't go into any of the details about what her little brother had gone through at Kaer Morhen. He was going to spare her that. Eventually, when she ran out of questions, he stood up from his chair and was about to move from the table when Milka reached out and placed her hand on his forearm.
"Wait. I didn't get your name."
"It's Geralt."
"Well, I want to thank you for this, Geralt. I know that you didn't have to do it, but I'm so grateful you did. It means the world to me. And…and you'll always have a hot meal and a place to stay in Hengfors, okay? Always. It's the least I can do."
The teen looked at the woman and then slowly nodded his head.
"Okay," he said, but he knew he'd never take her up on her offer. She reminded him too much of Eugene, and that hurt just too damn much.
A moment later, as he exited the front door of the tavern, he realized that there was only one more thing he had to do. It was time to head east – to Kaedwen.
oOo
The witcher rode his horse toward the village at a canter, Roach's hooves kicking up clouds of dust in her wake. He would have spurred her into a gallop except for fear of her weak, front leg faltering under the stress. He turned slightly in the saddle and looked over his shoulder, scanning the rural terrain behind them, but he saw nothing but a gently-sloping mountainside dotted with trees and all sorts of other flora. The wide, dirt road down which they were traveling snaked its way higher up into the steeper areas of the mountains, stopping at various mining camps, all of which were currently empty. There'd been no work in the mines for several weeks, ever since some miners had disturbed monster nests hidden deep within the mountain. Close to a dozen of the workers never made it back to the surface, and it had been at that point that the owner of the mining operation had posted a notice for a witcher.
Geralt kept his eyes on the mountainside for a second longer, and then he looked down at the trophy hanging off of the back of Roach's saddle – or, more specifically, the three trophies. Bouncing off the side of his horse's flank were the heads of three, incredibly large spiders – also known as arachnomorphs. Each head was easily the size of that of a grown man. The three trophies were held together in some loose netting that was tied into a knot at the top and secured tightly to the hook on Roach's saddle. The horse's back leg where the trophies hung was stained red, for every time the three heads bounced, numerous drops of monster blood fell from the spiders' wounds onto either Roach's hair or the ground below. Seeing that, the witcher gave a slight nod of his head and then turned to face forward in the saddle.
Ten minutes later, the witcher and his horse sped into the village and quickly made their way to the cabin of the mining company located near the center of the small town. There were several miners on the porch of the cabin, and upon seeing the witcher's arrival, one of them made his way through the front door. A moment later, the owner – Anders Sapko - walked out onto the porch. He was a middle-aged man with a pot-belly and a bushy, salt-and-pepper mustache whose ends hung down past his lower lip. He stopped in his tracks upon seeing the three giant spider heads.
"Sweet Lebioda," he said, before rubbing his hand down over his thick mustache and droopy jowls.
He then looked at the witcher.
"Is that all of them?" he asked nervously.
The monster-slayer shook his head.
"There were close to a dozen of them in the mines," he answered. "Didn't feel like bringing back every head. You want the rest of the trophies, you know where to find them."
The witcher then noticed that Sapko was no longer looking him in the face. His eyes had dropped and were focused on his left arm – right above the wrist - and then they shifted downward even more to view his left hand. The monster-slayer glanced at his wrist – the gambeson there ripped and stained red - and then he quickly looked down to see a drop of his own blood dripping off his fingertips. He slowly and carefully wiped the blood on his trousers. When he looked back up, he noticed Sapko making eye-contact with the men on either side of him.
"Tough fight then?" asked Sapko, licking his lips.
The monster-slayer gave a barely-perceptible shrug.
"Had worse."
"Well, why don't you come on inside? We can help clean up that arm, and I'll pay you what you're owed."
The witcher glanced at Sapko's men on the porch and then back to the owner standing in the middle. He then slowly shook his head.
"Prefer not," answered the monster-slayer. "My leg is injured, too. Rather not walk on it right now."
It was a lie. His leg wasn't injured. He was simply testing them. The witcher easily noticed all the men's eyes automatically shift towards his legs, searching for a wound.
Suddenly, Roach's ears perked straight up. She snorted, jerked her head, and stamped her hooves several times causing Geralt to have to tighten his grip on her reins to get her under control. He then looked back at Sapko.
"We can conclude our business right here and now," said the witcher.
The owner of the mines looked at his men again and then squinted his eyes at the witcher. Eventually, he nodded his head.
"Suit yourself."
He reached into a front pocket of his coat and pulled out a coin purse. He opened the bag and dumped out a fistful of coins into his left hand. After putting those coins back into his coat pocket, he closed the bag and tossed it at the monster-killer. The witcher snatched the bag out of the air without ever even taking his eyes off of Sapko. He continued to stare at the man for several long seconds before he finally spoke.
"I've been on the Path for a while now. Long enough that I don't really even have to count coins anymore. I can tell if I'm being cheated just by the weight of the bag," he said, holding the coin purse in his palm. "And this definitely feels light."
"'Cheated' is such an ugly word," Sapko said with small smile. "I prefer the term 'renegotiation.' You see, witcher, the town's fallen on hard times. We have -"
"Spare me your bullshit," interrupted the witcher. "I've heard it all. Bottom line is – you've got no honor…but I'm not surprised. I knew you'd go back on your word the moment you opened your mouth. Could see it in your beady, little eyes."
The witcher then put the coin bag in the front pocket of his gambeson.
"But that's alright," growled the monster-slayer. "You'll reap what you sow."
Upon hearing that, all the miners on the porch grabbed weapons – either axes or pick-axes – that had been resting against the wall behind them.
"Just try it, witcher," said Sapko, his voice defiant and with a small sneer. "If you harm even a one of us, Duke Bertrand's men will hunt you down. We sent word to him this morning that we were dealing with you. You're in his duchy now, and know this - he's never taken to your kind. Considers you nothing more than a necessary evil."
The monster-slayer shook his head.
"All this…over some money," he said, barely above a whisper.
He then reached behind him and grabbed the three spiders' heads off the hook. He shook the netting a few times and a dozen or more drops of blood fell and soaked into the ground at Roach's feet. He swung his arm in a big arc and then flung the heads on top of the porch's roof. Sapko and his men all looked at each other, clearly confused by the action.
The monster-slayer looked each man in the eyes before coming back to Sapko in the middle. A small but predatory smile slowly came upon the witcher's face, which sent shivers down Sapko's spine.
"Don't worry, swindler," said Geralt. "I'm not going to draw my sword on you. Because unlike you, I'm a man of principle…so I'm not gonna kill you over a few coins. But that doesn't mean I have to save you worthless pieces of shit…out of the kindness of my heart. So, know this - those three heads that I just tossed up there...those were just the babies. And since I knew you'd cheat me, I let their momma live. And let me tell you – she's twice their size, and she's really angry – especially considering I cut off one of her legs."
Then, his smile grew meaner.
"But that's okay - she can survive with only seven legs. And she'll be coming this way any minute now. I left a nice trail for her to follow…right to your door."
Suddenly, Roach became agitated again, and Geralt had to grab the reins with both hands to get her under control. Finally, he got her calm enough that he was able to look at Sapko again.
"In fact, I can hear her coming right now. She's getting real close," said Geralt, with the smile still on his face.
Then his face turned grave.
"You only pay for half the contract, then you only get half the contract. So, reap it, asshole."
With a snap of the reins, he urged Roach into a canter in the opposite direction from which they had entered the village. As he rode off, the witcher could hear several shouts from the men behind him. But he could hear one voice over them all.
"Witcher! Come back!" Sapko yelled. "Come back! I'll pay you what I owe! I'll pay you what I owe!"
"Oh, you're gonna pay," the monster-slayer whispered to himself. "No doubt about that."
oOo
Kaer Morhen - Winter 1194
"You really lured that mother arachnomorph right into the village?" asked Eskel.
"Damn, Geralt," said Groesbeck, Eskel's friend and a fellow velpe. "That's was some cold-hearted shit."
Geralt shrugged.
"They got what they deserved."
Geralt sat at a long table inside of the great hall of the keep. Across from him sat the two velpen and Master Vesemir. They'd been there for at least a half an hour, having him recount his tales from his experiences on the Path.
"That's an understatement," agreed Groesbeck, after a short chuckle. "And I'm not condemning you for it. If they actually lived, they'll think twice about ever cheating a witcher again. So, I love what you did."
"And what if he hadn't short-changed you?" asked Vesemir.
Geralt shook his head at his mentor.
"There was never any doubt," he said. "I could see it in his eyes. He might as well have had 'cheat' written across his forehead."
Then, he shrugged.
"And if I was wrong…no big deal. I would've gone out to meet the mama-arachas before she made it to the village."
He then looked squarely into the old witcher's eyes.
"You tried your best to warn me…that the world has no honor. But I didn't listen…because I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to believe that the world out there was no different than the one in here. So, I had to learn the hard way…and learn I have. If I want justice in this gods-forsaken world, then I'm gonna have to grab it myself…cause no one's gonna give it to me. That's for damn sure."
Vesemir nodded.
"Sounds like you're finally ready for the last step, then," he said.
"And just what step is that?" asked Geralt.
"The Trial of the Medallion," Vesemir answered, and then he pointed to the wolf-head medallion resting against Geralt's chest. "I want mine back."
"Right," said Geralt. "Forgot about that."
"I bet you did," said Vesemir, his tone indicating that he clearly didn't believe the teen. "And then after that, you need to think about picking a fuller name. Simply going by 'Geralt' isn't enough. That might be playing a part in why people keep trying to cheat you. Folk will respect you more…and trust you more if they think you're actually from somewhere. Makes you…more human. In their eyes, at least."
Geralt was quiet for several moments, looking down at the table in front of him and clearly lost in his thoughts.
Finally, his eyes came back up to meet those of his mentor, and he said, "Geralt of Rivia."
"'Geralt of Rivia.' Huh, that's got a nice ring to it," said Eskel with a nod. "But why Rivia? Is that where you're actually from?"
The white-haired witcher looked at his friend and then slowly shook his head.
"No," he said before sighing slightly. "I'm a witcher…so I'm not from anywhere, unless you count this place."
He then swallowed and nodded his head.
"This is where I was born."
"Then why Rivia?" asked Groesbeck.
Geralt shrugged.
"It's as good a place as any."
Suddenly, Geralt heard the door to the keep open behind him, followed immediately by Eskel whispering, "Great," under his breath.
A moment later, the hall was filled with a deep, rumbling laugh. It was a laugh that Geralt knew well. And one that he loathed. He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and then stood and turned around as Kalen approached.
"Well, well, the Piss Boy returns. I thought I smelled pussy," said the one-eyed witcher. "I'm surprised you're even still alive. Figured you be drowner droppings by now."
Geralt didn't say anything. He just stared up at his former tormentor. Despite the fact that the teenager had grown a couple of more inches in the last year, the ugly bastard was still taller than him, and he had a handful of PMs behind him. Ones that, Geralt had no doubt, he was trying to mold into regular whoresons just like himself.
"Well, I'm happy to disappoint you," Geralt eventually said, his voice cold.
"Yeah, you're good at that – being a disappointment," Kalen said with a smile. "I doubt you've even completed a single contract since you've been gone. Probably could only find work in some run-down brothel – on your knees."
The scarred man then let out another deep laugh.
"How about it, Piss Boy? I bet I've got spare oren on me. Wanna get on your knees and show us how good you are?"
A smirk was on his face, and he quickly glanced at the velpen behind him before bringing his gaze back to the white-haired teenager in front of him.
"Oh, hell, you probably enjoy doing it so much that you'll do it for free, won't you?"
Geralt continued to do nothing but stare into Kalen's left eye and breathe very slowly.
"Master Vesemir?" he finally said, his eyes still boring into that of the scarred witcher.
"Yes, Geralt," said the older witcher from behind.
"Promise me that – no matter what happens - you won't interfere this time."
A couple seconds of silence followed. Then, Geralt heard the old man sigh.
"I promise."
Immediately, Geralt's fist shot forward right into Kalen's face. Bone and cartilage snapped and blood gushed forth from his disfigured nose as he fell hard onto his backside on the stone floor. The big man shook his head several times – as if clearing cobwebs from his mind. He brought his hand to his nose and then looked down at the blood on his fingers. He slowly brought his one good eye up to look at the white-haired monster-slayer.
Geralt had his steel sword unsheathed, its tip pointing directly at Kalen's face.
"Get up," he growled. "We're gonna finally finish this."
Immediately, those sitting at the table stood up, and they – along with the PM's who had been with Kalen - backed away, giving the two enemies plenty of space.
A bloody, hideous smile came to Kalen's face as he looked up at Geralt from the seated position.
"Well, well, look at the big balls on the Piss Boy," he said after spitting blood from his mouth. "Thought you'd learned your lesson last time."
Kalen then drew his own steel sword and slowly began to get to his feet. He was still looking down at the stone floor and just rising to his full height when he suddenly threw his left hand forward. A flame of Igni fire blasted forth toward Geralt, but the teenager was no longer there.
As soon as he'd seen the one-eyed witcher's hand begin to move, he'd rolled forward and to his left completely avoiding the Igni flames. He came out of the roll on one knee and thrust his sword forward. Kalen let loose with a yell as Geralt's blade pierced straight through the big man's right knee. In a flash, he withdrew his sword and was moving again.
As Kalen was falling to the floor, Geralt was already up on both feet and circling behind him. The scarred witcher was down on one knee, and his right hand – still holding his sword - was on the floor, supporting his weight.
"I did learn my lesson," growled the teenager. "That you're a cowardly, miserable whoreson without a shred of honor."
Immediately, he hopped forward and ran his blade through the elbow of Kalen's right arm, almost cutting the arm in half. The one-eyed witcher howled again as he fell face first onto the stone floor.
"Get on your feet, you piece of filth," snarled Geralt.
Kalen quickly rolled over and cast another Igni, but the teenager had anticipated it and had already skipped to the side. He thrust his blade into Kalen's left shoulder, and before Kalen could even roar out in pain, the younger witcher was moving again.
"You're pathetic," said the teenage witcher, glaring down into Kalen's eyes. "When your sneak attacks don't work, then you've got nothing. And you still haven't even tried to use your sword against me. You should be ashamed. You're no real witcher at all. I'm actually embarrassed for you."
The black-haired monster-slayer was on his back, blood not only still pouring from his nose but also from the three other wounds. He rolled over onto his side and then used his sword to help him get back onto his feet. He was clearly putting almost all of his weight on his left leg, and he carried his sword in his left hand. His right arm hung limply down by his side. He turned slowly and brought his eye towards Geralt.
Immediately, the teenager attacked. Kalen brought his sword up, but Geralt's powerful, two-handed strike knocked the older, weaker man's sword from his grip. A fraction of a second later, the white-haired monster-slayer signed an Aard and blasted Kalen through the air. He crashed down on top of the wooden table, and before he'd even had time to move, Geralt was above him, driving the blade of his sword straight through his left arm, pinning it to the wood underneath and causing the bloody man to roar again in pain. Geralt instantly let go of the handle of the sword, and as he grasped Kalen's right wrist in his left hand and kept it immobilized on the table, he began pummeling the scarred witcher's face with his right fist.
In that moment, all the pent-up rage Geralt had ever felt came pouring out. The rage at the unfairness of life – of being taken from his mother; of the years of systematic abuse at Kaer Morhen; of Eugene's public whipping and death; of the slaughter of Bogor and his family; of Delyla's lies and betrayal; of finding out that his mother was alive but that – in spite of that - he could never be with her again. And the hateful, one-eyed man embodied it all.
As Geralt continued to repeatedly drive his fist into Kalen's face, he suddenly yelled out at the top of his lungs – his roar of anguish getting louder with every blow and echoing throughout the great hall for several long seconds. At that point, he was in a complete frenzy and wasn't even aware at his surroundings anymore. But as the last of his shout escaped from his lungs, he suddenly came back to himself. Breathing heavy, he shook his head slightly and refocused his eyes on the man below him. Kalen's face was an absolute, bloody mess, but Geralt could see that his one good eye was still open and glaring right at him.
And then he heard a rumbling sound coming from the injured witcher's throat. Eventually, he realized that Kalen was laughing. He furrowed his brow and stared down at Kalen in confusion, which only made the scarred witcher laugh some more. The laughter only stopped when Kalen suddenly coughed - spittle and blood flying from his mouth.
Kalen stared at Geralt and smiled - a bloody, now partially toothless smile.
"Good…that's good," he said in a garbled voice. "And, now, you can thank me."
"Thank you?" snarled Geralt. "What the hell would I ever thank you for?"
"Because I made you, boy, that's why. You're only here because of me. How do you think you actually survived this place all those years when you were nothing but a weak, scrawny, little shit? Because of me, that's how. You may have hated me – hell, you still do – but it hardened you…made you a survivor. I honestly didn't think you had it in you…but it looks like you learned my lessons, after all. Gave you some steel in your spine. Maybe you have the makings of a witcher, after all."
He then coughed up more blood.
"Now, either get the hell off of me…or go ahead and finish it," he ordered. "If you got the balls. Then, maybe one day, you can take my place – teaching other witchers what it takes to survive."
Geralt glared into to Kalen's eye. He clenched his jaw and slowed his breathing. After a few seconds, he finally spoke
"You're so full of shit. You didn't torture me to make me strong. You only did it because you enjoyed it," he said. "And I will never, ever be like you. I learned nothing from you – except for how to be cruel. You're worse than any monster I've ever met. They just do what's in their nature. But you - you actually take pleasure in causing others pain."
He shook his head.
"I will never be like you."
Kalen laughed.
"You're lying, boy. We both know you're loving this. You've dreamed for years of making me bleed."
Geralt glared at Kalen some more and then finally shook his head again.
"You're wrong. This is justice – for Bogor and his family," he growled. "And death is too good for you."
Suddenly, and without any kind of warning, he quickly jammed his thumb into Kalen's eye and gouged the orb completely out of its socket.
As the older witcher screamed out in pain, Geralt pulled upward on his sword with his left hand, leapt off the table, and then moved back several paces. He stared at Kalen writhing and wailing in agony on top of the table, and then, after several long moments, he dropped the eyeball to the stone floor of the hall.
"You know what – you might be right," the white-haired witcher said eventually with a small sneer coming to his face. "Because I really am enjoying watching you suffer. Justice feels even better than I thought it would."
He then peered down at the floor, the eyeball catching his attention. He took a small step to the side and brought his boot down on top of the orb, slowly grinding it into the hard stone beneath. When he looked back up, he noticed that the hall was much more occupied than before. The commotion had obviously drawn a crowd. There were nearly two dozen witchers of varying ages standing in a group – all staring alternately at either Kalen or Geralt. Some – the recently-mutated PM's – he didn't recognize, but the rest he did, which brought a scowl to his face.
"Anybody got anything to say?" he growled. "No? Anybody else want to call me Piss Boy?"
Nobody said a word.
"Any other cute nicknames?"
The hall stayed silent except for Kalen's cries of pain.
Geralt slowly nodded his head.
"Didn't think so."
At that, he turned and made his way toward the front entrance of the keep. As he got to the large, wooden doors, he heard a voice from behind him.
"Geralt, wait!"
The teenager turned back to see his mentor approaching him. He looked past the old witcher to see that no one else was heading in his direction. Most had crowded around Kalen. The ugly whoreson was still howling in pain, which infused Geralt with a tremendous sense of satisfaction.
"Look, you don't have to leave. If you're worried about anyone's reaction over that -" and he pointed a thumb over his shoulder towards Kalen "- don't. No one's ever liked that son-of-a-bitch."
"I'm not worried. A witcher knows no fear," responded Geralt. "But I've done what I came to do…so now it's time to go."
"Go? Go where?" asked Vesemir
"I'm going home."
Vesemir furrowed his brow.
"But you are home. Kaer Morhen's your home."
Geralt slowly shook his head.
"This'll never be my home. It's nothing but a breeding ground of…torture and tyranny. The Path…that's the only home I have now," he answered.
The teenager reached up to remove the wolf-head medallion from around his neck, but Vesemir raised a hand and shook his head. To Geralt's surprise, he thought that he could see actual sadness on his mentor's face.
"No, Geralt, you keep it."
He looked into Vesemir's eyes and gave a small nod. After a moment, he peered over the older witcher's head, and his eyes scanned the great hall. After a small shake of his head, he looked back at his mentor.
"You were right, you know. Right about…hell, just about everything."
Geralt thought that the old man would smile at that, but he didn't. In fact, his face seemed to grow sadder.
"Well, that must have been painful to admit."
"You'll never know."
"Well, I'm sorry, Geralt…sorry that I was right."
"Yeah, me, too."
"Think you'll ever come back?"
Geralt sighed.
"Doubtful. There's just too many bad memories here. But, hell, who knows what the future holds. I once thought I knew everything, but now…I don't even know what tomorrow's gonna bring. So, who knows?"
Vesemir nodded, and then he removed the glove from his right hand and extended it out in front of him.
Geralt looked at the hand for a second and then reached out and gripped it in his own. The two witchers stood still and silent for several long moments, simply looking into each other's eyes. Finally, Geralt gave a small nod of his head and released his grip.
"Farewell, Master Vesemir."
"Farewell, Geralt."
And then the witcher turned and exited the castle, firmly shutting the doors behind him.
oOo
Geralt slowly rode Roach out of the outer gate of Wolf-School stronghold and down along the mountain trail. He looked up into the afternoon sky – a slate-gray, winter sky with the sun totally obscured by thick, storm clouds. As he continued down the path, he slightly nodded his head at the sight. For he thought the weather was appropriate. Even though he knew it wasn't accurate – even though he knew the sun had routinely shone at Kaer Morhen - every memory he had of the place was dark and full of pain.
Several minutes later, his sensitive hearing picked up a noise coming from the tree line on the slope to his left, and a few seconds after that, Roach immediately neighed and became skittish. He tightened his grip on her reins and whispered softly to her.
"Easy, girl. Easy."
Eventually, he got her under control, and his eyes scanned the tree line above him. He could hear a low, rumbling growl coming from somewhere close, but he couldn't see the beast. His eyes continued to flick back and forth until he finally saw it – a pair of animal-eyes staring right at him from the deep shadows. While maintaining eye-contact the entire time with the creature, he reached down with his left hand and gently rubbed his filly's neck.
"It's okay, Roach," he whispered. "It's okay."
The muscles under her skin twitched in response.
A moment later, a wolf took several steps forward, out of the darkness and cover of the trees, and revealed itself. Its fur was light-gray, and it was all alone.
The witcher and the wolf stared at each other for the longest time, neither moving or making a sound. Then, slowly, the wolf seemed to lower its head just a fraction of an inch. Geralt furrowed his brows, and then gave a slight nod of his head. At that, the wolf raised up straight, lifted its head toward the sky, and let loose with a mournful howl. Roach immediately reared up and then stamped her hooves in agitation, causing Geralt to shorten his grip on the reins. By the time he got her calm and back under control, when he looked back at the tree line, the wolf was long gone.
He reached down and petted his horse tenderly along her neck.
"It's okay, girl," he said. "He meant us no harm. He was just curious."
Suddenly, he heard another howl coming from higher up in the mountains. Geralt looked up and scanned the terrain but couldn't see the wolf anywhere. And he heard no howls in response. A minute later, he'd still not heard any response to the wolf's call. The mountain range remained still and silent.
"Looks like he's alone, girl," he whispered. "Maybe he's just lonely."
He then let out a sigh and slightly lowered his head.
"Maybe he's just lonely," he whispered to himself.
The teen sat there in the saddle for a moment, and then he reached inside of his gambeson and carefully pulled out a folded parchment. He gently unfolded the piece of paper, and as he looked down at it, a memory played through his mind.
"Witcher! Come back! I'll pay! I'll pay!"
Geralt heard the fat man's shouts coming from behind him but paid them no mind. Sapko would get what he deserved, and hopefully all of his armed men, too. It'd serve them right for associating with the cheating, dishonorable bastard. They had no excuse. They knew exactly who they were working for, thought the witcher.
A moment later, Roach neighed loudly and stamped her hooves as cries of terror echoed from the far side of the small village, and a smile – one that would elicit nothing but dread in anyone who viewed it - came to the monster-slayer's face. It sounded like the giant, venomous, mother arachnomorph had finally arrived.
The monster-slayer continued to trot his horse past a few cabins and towards the edge of town when, suddenly, he heard a soft, feminine voice call out to him from behind.
"Master Witcher! Master Witcher!"
'Just ignore it,' he thought to himself.
"Wait, please. I have something for you," the voice called out again.
"Vekka! Come back here!" yelled another voice – also feminine but much older and much harsher.
The witcher sighed and then gently pulled back on Roach's reins. He slowly turned his horse around to look at whatever scene was going on behind him.
A girl was running towards him while an older woman – obviously her mother – was standing at the front gate of their home, wringing her hands together with a nervous look plastered across her face.
"Vekka! I said come back here!" the mother yelled again, still rooted in place.
But the girl kept running towards the witcher. She suddenly stopped when she got within a few feet of him and Roach. He looked down at her and his breath momentarily caught in his throat. She wasn't a little girl, after all. She was a young woman – perhaps, fourteen or fifteen years old – and he thought that she was absolutely beautiful. She had raven-black hair that fell in a cascade of loose curls down to her shoulders. Her triangular-shaped face had flawless skin and was slightly flushed from running, but it was her eyes he noticed most. They were the most unique color he'd ever seen. He thought that they were probably bluish-grey, but in the late afternoon light, they actually looked violet.
"Master Witcher," she said in between deep breaths. "I drew this for you."
She then held up a piece of paper towards him.
He couldn't stop staring at her, but he eventually broke his gaze and looked at the parchment in her hand. He then quickly brought his eyes back to hers.
"It's for you," she said, still holding the paper up for him.
The small – and slightly insecure – smile on her face made it hard for him to breathe.
He slowly reached down and grabbed the paper, still gazing at her the entire time. He sat back up straight in the saddle and finally took his eyes off the maiden to look at the drawing. The girl possessed sufficient artistic talent that he immediately recognized what it depicted. In the middle of the drawing was a white-haired witcher with a silver medallion on his chest and the hilts of two swords peaking over his back. Next to him was a short, raven-haired girl in a blue dress – just like the one the girl was wearing now. The witcher in the drawing was holding his left hand out to his side, grasping the hand of the girl. Above the girl was her name – "Vekka." And above him, she had written, "My Witcher."
"I watched you ride off into the mountains this morning. I knew you'd save us," she said. "My brave knight."
Geralt quickly raised his head and squinted at the girl.
"What did you say?" he asked in his gravelly voice.
Vekka's eyes immediately went wide and she took a small step back.
"Wait. Please don't go," said Geralt quickly and as gently as he could. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."
He then did his best to soften his demeanor.
"I'm not angry. This…this is just the way my voice sounds," he slightly stammered. "I'm sorry if I scared you."
At that, the fear seemed to vanish from the girl's face.
"I just wanted to know…the last thing you said."
The two were now staring into each other's eyes.
"I…I said that you were my knight," she said softly.
Instantly, her face reddened, and she quickly averted her eyes from his, looking down to the ground.
Upon hearing her words, a memory flashed through the teenager's mind. He saw his mother all those years ago sitting on her five-year old son's bed.
"I dub thee, Sir Geralt of Rivia," he remembered Visenna saying. "A knight of courage and a defender of the downtrodden."
Suddenly, he was brought out of the memory by shrill cries coming from the other side of the village. They were so loud that, this time, even Vekka heard them and turned in their direction. She then quickly turned back to look at the witcher, both fear and confusion on her face. Geralt looked intently into the girl's eyes for several seconds, and then he shifted his gaze over her head towards the sounds of death and chaos coming from behind her. And then he sighed deeply.
"Damn it," he whispered to himself, with a small shake of his head. And then he reached for his sword.
A snowflake fell slowly from the slate-gray sky and landed on the drawing in the witcher's hand, causing him to glance upward to see black, storm clouds right above. He looked back down at the parchment, and his eyes, as usual, were drawn to the raven-haired girl in the blue dress. He peered at the girl for the longest time, and then, eventually, with a small sigh, he refolded the parchment and carefully tucked it away inside of his gambeson. Suddenly, he heard the wolf, once again, howl far off in the distance – its call echoing down out of the mountains and across the valley.
The witcher patted his horse gently on the neck one more time, and then he brought his gaze upward and straight ahead. He let out another small sigh and gave a slight nod as he set his face towards the Path.
"Let's go, Roach," he said as he lightly flicked the reins. "Let's go home."
oOo
The End